


john egbert does not love you

by foodstamps



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodstamps/pseuds/foodstamps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know that already! That he never will and always won't and you're wasting your time while you and him play go fish at 1 AM in the morning, but all you can think of right now is how badly you want to get your disgusting slobber all over his pretty little lips and maybe even let him lick the back of your</p><p>"Got any twos?"</p><p>"I want two kiss you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. before

If anyone ever asked, you'd tell them that by simply being alive and breathing, John Egbert has managed to transcend his way up the Daveladder as your most favorite person in the world.

(Secretly though, you hope nobody ever asks.)

It's too-early on a too-cold Saturday morning for you to be up and dressed already, but the mere thought of him brings a funny feeling to your stomach and beads of sweat to your neck, so you end up being able to pull off your trademark t-shirt and jeans after all. Your eyebrows stitch together as you reconsider this choice, and you absentmindedly suggest yourself to maaaaybe switch for a dress shirt, perhaps even a tux....

.......Not like you're trying to impress anyone, though. Really! How dumb do you have to be to even consider that? The idea is kicked out of your mind in a second, and you mentally kick yourself too for even thinking of such a thing. Stupid stupid dumb dumb.

Breakfast is just a hyperbolic suggestion at this point in time, and who even brushes their teeth still? Dental hygiene is stupid and so is the inventor of toothpaste, but you can't help but to waste a few minutes fixing up your hair. Oops, you mean half hour.

After all, you've got a reputation to live up to, and that is simply the only excusable excuse.

You wipe the eye gunk off your face with the back of your wrist, though no one would ever see it anyway. Strangely though, a small nagging feeling in the depths of your mind tells you that it's best if you do. On no circumstances would you ever doubt your Strider senses.

(Except that's a lie because you've already done so, and the very thought of that contradicts your whole purpose for waking up! Hahahaha, what are these thoughts?)

Meanwhile, your eyes casually drift over to a small pile of colorful rumps, and you smile a bit in spite of yourself.

Sometimes you miss your Bro.


	2. after

In a few seconds you whip our your now-shitty-phone and log into the endless realms of possibilities and wonders which is, in case ou didn't understand, pesterChum.

While waiting for the program to load, you glance at the distasteful chumHandle selected sloppily by your 11-year old self, and you make a note that you'll never remember to change it someday. Somehow.

After all, you are Dave Strider, and nothing is impossible for a Strider.

You ignore the obvious lies of that last statement and browse through the neverending laundry list of chums and trolls for a particular mind-alluring name.

...Which is actually only 3 handles, if you think about it (and excluded all the friend requests you sent that weren't accepted), as all the trolls stopped existing ever since 3 years ago! How the fuck could you have forgotten that? You flick yourself in the head, and wince a little because actually, that _really fucking hurt._

Your fingers trace offhandedly over the names of your nonexistent (kinda) friends, even the unironically hipster fish troll. Each of the 12 names are marked crudely with a bolded gray surprise noodle, reminding you how dead and gone they really are. You then spend a good thirty seconds wincing uncooly and drying the stupid beads of tears that have invited their disgusting presences in without your permission.

Because nobody will ever know.

Your attention is taken away when the mind-numbing sounds of buzzing begins emitting from your phone, and the loops of vibration makes it dead obvious that the origin is no other than the king of dorks himself.

A small smile creeps onto your face and you giggle foolishly into the empty room. You're once again (somewhat) thankful that nobody's home anymore.

 

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 14:25 --

EB: pssst  
EB: dave!  
EB: daaaaaaaave.  
EB: it is i, dave!!  
EB: sir john from the land of egbert and good movies.  
EB: i bring great news!!! so please answer right now.  
EB: dave?  
EB: dave guess what i have!  
EB: dave dave dave.  
EB: dave dave dave dave dave dave.  
EB: hey dave i got married!  
EB: hey dave guess what!?!?  
EB: guess what dave, i am your father!  
EB: dave, i'm pregnant and you're the baby!  
EB: dave i just got knighted three times!  
EB: dave i got elected as prime minister of britain!  
EB: dave we are engaged, i just found out!!!  
EB: dave, seriously, where are you.  
EB: :C  
EB: daaaaaaaaaaaave.  
EB: daa  
EB: aaa  
EB: aaa  
EB: vee.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has signed off! --

EB: uh.  
EB: dave?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has signed in! --

TG: oops  
TG: sup eggs  
EB: wow, where were you!?!  
EB: i've been literally waiting all day, you know?  
TG: i can tell  
TG: mr im gonna fucking crash daves phone with my meaningless spam  
TG: bzzzt bzzt john bzzt bzzt  
TG: do you understand me  
EB: hehehehe.  
EB: whoopsie daisy!  
TG: you know what  
TG: fuck you and your stupidly outdated exclamations  
TG: nevermind  
TG: congrats on the marriage by the way  
TG: why was i not invited  
TG: is this a sign  
TG: are you trying to tell me something here  
TG: my heart is literally in pieces and i got literary art engraved into my wrists  
TG: why john  
TG: why  
EB: because she is the apple to my pie dave.  
EB: the star in my sky.  
EB: oh and speaking of apple pie.  
EB: i just wanted to tell you the most awesome news in like the entire world of awesome newses.  
EB: are you ready dave?  
EB: this is some pretty serious fucking crazy news i'm about to give you.  
EB: and did i mention it's awesome?!?  
TG: oh mister egbert ooh  
TG: please enlighten me with your mysterious stories of the northeast  
TG: meanwhile im just gonna go take a shit brb sorry  
EB: ewwww.  
EB: dave that's gross and probably inappropriate too!  
EB: ever heard of tmi?  
TG: isnt that some kind of shitty katy perry song  
EB: what no!  
EB: no i think you mean tgif.  
EB: get your pop songs straight, dummy.  
TG: whatever dont care  
TG: kk brb honeybunches

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] is an idle chum! --

EB: aww what!  
EB: i didn't think you'd actually go, you dick.  
EB: i'm sorry!! i swear i was kidding, sheesh.  
EB: ...  
EB: well uh, since you're not responding.  
EB: bye...............  
EB: ....baby doll!!<3  
EB: (hehehehehe) 

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] is an idle chum! --

 

You panic as you realize that you just lied to your best friend. Your heart is literally racing (ironically of course) a trillion miles per hour at the mere thought of what Egbert might report to you.

You hope on every star in every galaxy you know that it's what you want.


	3. burning

If you were really as brave as you pretended to be, you would tell John Egbert that he was the most wonderful thing in your life, and you would continue to cheesily spit comments onto his swooning self. Maybe you would even let him cradle you in his arms if it tickled his mangrit enough...

...You are absolutely terrible at pretending sometimes.

For example, you're pretending to care as the potential light-of-your-life tries to enlighten you with the great news of his love life.

It's not working.

...Because the love of his life's name is Dave Strider, so why would you need to pretend? And his hair is a honey-wheat blonde while his eyes are two pools of ruby red swimming behind mysterious dark shadows, and John Egbert loves him with all his heart and organs combined. Then suddenly, your love is at your window and he calls out to you with dramatic poise, and you gasp and whisper "How did you know?" with your hands held close to your heart, and he says "Because I always do." Then he climbs up and kisses you with longing even more desperate than yours, and you flutter your eyelids for irony's sake, and then he carries you away from this dreaded town and your too-empty apartment.

(Except that's a lie because as well as a horrible pretender, you make for a lousy liar.)

Her name is Vrisilla and you hate her with every ounce of your soul and more.

Her eyes are a disgusting shade of coalmine cyan while his are bluer than the ocean itself, and you hate the way she smiles because it's just so _fake_ and he deserves so much better and he especially deserves your arms around him while you kiss him gently on his little lips and he shyly rubs against your

Except that's a lie because you hate her, so you guess you really can't judge her.

(Hahahaha, you are SO out of your league.)

It's midnight and you soon realize that you never got to say what you thought you were so intent on saying today.

Even though you never do.

 

TG: i  
TG: gotta go bye  
EB: wait why?  
TG: dunno just gotta  
TG: guess theres a whole world out there just waiting to be davified by my glorious face  
TG: sitting here aint gonna do squat  
EB: what!?!  
EB: no...  
EB: please stay.  
TG: i lo  


And all that's left of your heart breaks.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has signed off! -- 


	4. loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. dave john meet  
> 2\. ??????????  
> 3\. yaoi ensues  
> 4\. prospit!! (get it cuz profit and prospit)

It's the first time you met him that really got to you. The way his eyes fucking _twinkled_ like all the goddamn similes in the world and how his stupid black hair stuck up in all the right places just waiting for you to run your fingers through and ashdfoijhaseiodrjfasidfsadfdsfa

It's okay. You don't understand yourself either.

The moment he walks into your field of sight, you notice how everything around him starts to radiate with the raw opulence of sheer _joy_. His smiles are contagious and you find a tiny grin starting to form on your own face.

But you can't ruin his image of you. After all, you've still got a reputation going on.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and he throws himself onto you in a huge tackle-hug. It's all you can do not to pull him into a slobbering love-snog right there.

Breathe in, breathe out...

...he's absolutely perfect.

He pecks your cheek with a grin on your face, and you can't help to wonder if he's even capable of expressing another emotion. You feel your eyes sting as you remember how it will only ever be platonic.

But you try not to think of that right now.

John's hands are warm.

You lace yours through his and he snorts with laughter, thinking it as nothing but another round of gay chicken. He has no idea how much you really mean it.

With a mischievous smirk on his face, he retorts with a sincere hug. Honestly though, it's actually quite nice and wow his chest is really soft and _oh god your **pants.**_

You pull away quickly and in return, he gives you an unreadable expression on his face. A plethora of guilt rains down on you, and you pat his back as a silent apology, hoping that it'll suffice while you both walk quietly back to your apartment.

It doesn't.

 

\--

As soon as you take him to your place, his gleeful charade shatters and you soon find out that he is not quite as happy as he appeared to be three hours ago. John Egbert is lonely and scared, and he isn't afraid to fucking show it.

Your heart's response is worse because it happens to be you holding him in your arms as he cries, but you're okay. Really.

Because John Egbert, although lonely and scared, is single again.

You feel like the knight of fucking terrible friends for smiling so hard, and you peck him on the cheek twice and tell him it's okay quadruple that. Oops. He smiles a sad little smile and nips your cheek back with clenched fists and both of his blue eyes shut tight.

He's not thinking of you and you know it.

But you can sure as hell pretend.


	5. believing

The next few days are spent mindlessly showing Egbert around your shitty town, but he actually seems pretty goddamn happy about it.

The town, you mean. You wish you could make him even a tiny bit as happy on your own, but wishes don't come true very often, do they?

He scurries into every store that doesn't exist in Washington (which is probably EVERY GODDAMN ONE), and spends about half of your paycheck for this month with unashamed haste. It's okay, you didn't need that new phone anyway.

And the feeling of his arm entwined in yours makes everything more than okay, no matter how nice that iPhone 9GS+ looked.

But the best part of it all is whenever you buy him something, 'cause it's then that he wraps his arms around your chest and you hold him back with no hesitation whatsoever. After all, to him this will always be nothing more than just a friendly bromatic snuggle session ~~but god do you wish it was more.~~

You can't decide whether that's a good thing or not.

You stand on your tippy toes while cursing silently at the unfair height advantage he has on you, and you deeply inhale the strong scent of papaya peach shampoo that just screams derpity derp derp Egderp and _love_.

Your only wish is that you could stay this way forever.

_Breathe in, breathe out..._

At the end of the day you both are anything but tired, and during the long walk home he seems seven times better than he ever was yesterday. His too-pale face glows in the dark inky sky, and you want nothing but to kiss him there and never let go.

The things this boy does to you is just _unreal_.

You absentmindedly lick your lips and vaguely remind yourself that he'd stopped talking, which is actually kind of a really rare occurrence. You then realize that John is staring at you with those big blue eyes of his, and he looks like the sexiest and most adorable fucking thing on this planet. Goddammit Egbert.

You love him so much it's not even funny, but you laugh anyway.

Then suddenly he joins you, and you find the sound to be better than any music you've tried to create in the past 15 years. You two continue your pleasantly silent trip home while he fumbles through his pockets for something you don't know. Soon you find yourself being crudely doodled on with permanent marker that will most definitely come out in never (maybe more), and he sings the lyrics of a song that stopped being cool 20 years ago.

You've never been so happy in your entire life.


	6. living

He doesn't love you, but you know that already.

In fact, he never will and always won't and you're just wasting your time while you and him play go fish at 1 AM in the morning, but right now all you can think of is how badly you want to get your disgusting slobber all over his pretty little lips and all over his swollen di

"Got any twos?"

"I want two kiss you."

Your name is Dave Strider and you are quite possibly the biggest fucking dumbass to have ever walked the face of this planet and FUCK YOU'RE AN IDIOT AND

he laughs.

You let out a sigh that you feel you've been holding in for way too long. It's become a chain reaction by now.

You grumble in pretend frustration and present him your two of hearts like it was the holy grail of Godknowswherington, and he giggles and curtsies accordingly.

It's no wonder that your entire world revolves around him.

John hasn't left ever since he came ~~not that you mind, of course~~ , and he never really intended to go back anyway. After all, the goddamn Game left all four of you without guardians.

But somehow you feel safer with him than you ever did and would've with your brother.

It's halfway 'till sunrise and all the card games have been played at least a thousand times each. He sloppily foot-wrestles you as he completes his online classes with the shittiest laptop that you bought him, and you stare at him like he's the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Which he is. There's no denying that.

You feel your eyes starting to droop as you tuck your head into your crossed arms, and you smile sleepily when he kisses your forehead and holds you tight when he thinks you're asleep.

And you continue to smile, even after you remember that he doesn't even really mean it.

Life is good.


	7. forgetting

You wake up sharply and unpleasantly, a minor headache cursing your skull. Nothing too serious, that's good. What _is_ serious is that there is a large source of heat currently wrapped around your legs and chest.

It takes no longer than a fucking millisecond to realize _it's him_.

You then proceed to run the fuck out of bed and no, you did not fuck. After all, you didn't take so much as a single lick of alcohol last night.

But that just makes it so much worse for you.

\---

 

It's another sleepless night with John as you two continue your secret night shifts as owls. A yawn escapes from him, which quickly turns into that same fucking giggle that gets you begging on your knees over and over and over...

You hear sleepy drabblings but you don't comprehend.

"Oh, hey could you repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how outrageously awesome I am."

He sighs and you wince, as this has become a thing that happens more-than-sometimes. But he understands.

"I saaaaaaaid that since you're supposedly the coolest kid to ever grace this planet, how come you've never gone out partying like all the other coolkids I know?"

Your breath hitches because it is at this point in time that you remember you are not actually cool. In fact, if you thought about it, better suiting words would be "lame" or perhaps even "pathetic loser".

But you don't want to think about it so ha.

"Well shit, Egbert, if you wanted a fucking gala (he giggles) so much, you coulda just asked! Don't worry babe, your bro Dave here knows aaall the parties that'll just tickle your fucking fancy."

(No you don't.)

He laughs. Fuck that, yes you do.

...You have never loved Facebook more than you do right now.

\--

Your name is Dave Strider and you hate everything about parties.

You hate the music at parties. You hate the shitty food at parties. You hate the people at parties. Hell, you even hate the fucking _booze_ at parties because you were fucking damned to feel responsibly obliged to not drink. But only for him.

And he doesn't have a single fucking clue about anything you're doing for him.

John Egbert is a fucking party animal and you are not jealous. Of him, you mean.

You are jealous of everyone that goes within a 10 meter radius within him which is BASICALLY FUCKING EVERYONE. (Not literally, though, because that would be terrible.) You indulge yourself in the giggly, pitchy giggles of your lover-to-not-be, when suddenly mocking, angry slurs of words buries all signs of that sweet sweet voice...

Your name is Dave Strider and disregard everything you've said before, because you actually ABSOLUTELY FUCKING HATE PARTIES.

But that's okay.

Because suddenly you hear the lullaby-tone screams of your lover-in-waiting, and you make out few words of defense and bitter insults.

But then you see his soft, delicate figure flop onto the ground beneath you, and through blurry vision you make out disgusting lines of crimson red smeared across his face.

And suddenly things become not-so-okay anymore.

Your eyes jerk open, and you fucking punch whoever-the-fuck-it-was in the face as hard as you can, and suddenly more streams of that awful red stream out. You waste no time at all.

You ignore the pain in your chest and bones while you pick up his limp body (which isn't quite as light as you'd like it to be), and you _run the fuck out of that party_ , thanking every God that you had no idea who any of those people were in the first place.

_  
~~  
but there is no god  
~~  
_

John is okay and you can't seem to smile enough.

Then suddenly you're in his room, and your lover is safe and sound (and still bleeding but whatever). You crawl in next to him while he strains out breathy giggles when you compliment as to how fucking classy red looks on his face. He licks his lips tentatively and catches your worried stare.

"Pff, I bit my lip, and you'd be surprised but vodka and scars are sucky combona-pals!"

An eruption of bravery floods through your veins, and you lean in and sloppily mash your mouth against said-lipscar. You keep your fingers crossed when he brushes over them with his.

He laughs and leans in closer, stealing your first kiss and quite possibly your heart. You barely notice that it was only barely a press on the lips, but you don't care.

"Let's not do that again" Your heart practically shatters and he notices.

"I meant the party thing, stupid." he mumbles, and he pulls you in even closer and buries his nose in your hair. It is right then you decide that the world is just almost-as-perfect as him.

You nod groggily, and you find yourself falling asleep in his arms.


	8. stopping

The light of day peaks through the thin fabric of your curtains, and you once again awake, except this time in the cold and lonely sheets of your own bed. You crawl out of bed and quietly walk to his room to find him (John, the boy who will never love you back) missing from the depths of his bed.

You hold a clammy palm to your face to stop the tears, if only by a little bit.

You slowly look around and you're relieved to find that his possessions are still in place, hopefully meaning that he hasn't left ~~yet~~. Throwing on a thin wool jacket, you tiptoe out onto the balcony to find him looking, well,

absolutely

fucking

_stunning_

~~you want to make out with him~~

~~you want him to make out with you~~

 

You need to hold him.

You run all too fast up to his delicate poise and you wrap your arms around his neck tightly, breathing in his gorgeous scent and savoring his delightful warmth. He looks back to you and gives you a look of pure love and adoration.

Except that's completely untrue because he's more confused than ever.

You let go too quickly like you've just been burned, and you nervously tilt your shades into place when he doesn't stop staring.

"Just thought you looked cold." You mumble quietly, clearing up your throat at the end to get rid of that nasty crack in your voice. He nods and smiles, although you can still see the doubt in his eyes, and he returns to his former state and blends back perfectly into nature with his perfect eyes and perfect nose and perfectly _being without you._

It is only then that you realize he never needed you at all.

You wonder why you even ever dared to think otherwise.


	9. drowning

_I love you._ he says with ardent emotion.

 _I need you._ you reply. _Please take me now._

Just kidding.

 

You wonder how it got to be like this, but everything just sort of fell grossly into place like the inversion of the hourglass that is your life. Every grain of your affection spills a little more with each passing second, while your patience and dignity and peppiness and insanity spills.

But just a little bit more, or else you'd be a bloody mess all puddled up on the floor, and it'll have to be your John (Beautiful John. Clean John. Kind John. Stupid John.) to clean up this horrendous waste that once, and once only, was his best friend Dave Strider.

Best friend. 

_Best friend._

_**I don't want to be your friend.**_ You'd reply, but really that's all you've got.

Maybe you don't mind the meager status, maybe you don't mind that it's not you he gazes at with those beautiful, blue blue blue blue eyes. Maybe you don't mind that he's never said your name at all like you wanted him to, maybe you don't mind that you'll never see him on the throes of orgasNdfsjkfaksdjaskdnhajkwewqekhnaksjdnw

Go to sleep, Dave Strider.

 _I love you._ You whisper to the lifeless spot that is the other side of your bed.


	10. good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is quickly turning into a series of drabbles
> 
> sorry.

Can't sleep. 

_I need my John._

Except he never really was yours. Maybe you liked to pretend he was but he, John Egbert, was never (not even for a moment) yours. And you're pretty certain he never will be. 

_Sigh._ you say, and you clutch your hands around your heart in fear that it might fall out. 

Roll. Toussle. Crinkle. Flip. 

**Can't sleep.**

**I need a John.**

But not just any John, the John. The John you wish that was yours, and oh how you wish. Every wish bone, every shooting star, every dandelion puff, every penny thrown into every fountain will indubitably be used on the one single thing in this entire meretricious lifetime that makes your myogenic muscular organ threaten to leap out of its captive cavity with each beat, each throb, each pulse, each opening of the valves. 

 

 _John._ you say, and your life is a lie.


	11. dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whats in a fucking name anyway  
> djstridenasty  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Archive Warning: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings  
> Category: F/M  
> Fandom: what  
> Relationship: joan egnard/dane stroller  
> Characters: look above dumbass  
> Stats: Published: 2011-12-21 Words: 6214 Chapters: 11/11 Kudos: 2 Hits: 19
> 
> Summary:  
> not for the faint of heart 
> 
> Notes:  
> if your name is rose and your last name starts with an l theres a good chance that youre not allowed to fucking read this
> 
> Chapter 11
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> ...

Every night, since you were small, you tuck yourself in, neat and proper. Pristine edges of the sheets are always drawn together tidily into your mattress, and every night you stand at the edge of your bed, so proud of the one thing in your life that you can keep orderly. The one thing you never can actually fail at. Your hospital corners never break. You're always so careful with them, like they're made of porcelain. Kindly folded with great care and precision, as if they were the epitome of your life.

But here you lay, cold, hungry, tired, and so alone. Alone in this mass of tangled sheets and broken corners, red coating your humble sanctuary like spilled juice that leaves stains, and the veins of it's stains, and so forth. Miles and miles of cherry red, and oh do you wish it could stop. An aria of feelings sings loudly in your head, benumbing your thoughts except the one most important that you could never dull out:

John Egbert does not love you.

He never will, but you know that already.

It's as clear as if it were etched into your eyelids, six words that never cease to exist and stand true. Your entire life is built beyond this phrase, a mantra, a chant, so you'll never fuck up and accidentally leak some of the dirty, dirty emotions that you're trying too hard to keep sealed. It's a good thing, too. 'Cause one moment you're all pumped up, confident and ready to tell him your horrible little secret, so so sure that he'll feel the same.

And then you blink. 

_why did you have to break my hospital corners, john? ___

Morning will come, night will arrive. Days, weeks, months, years, decades, and lifetimes will pass but no one will ever know. That one Dave Strider (you) fell in love with such a beauty, someone untouchable and so perfect. It's people like him that keep you living, but it's nights like these that tear you apart. 

Maybe you'd be better off as a robot.

Maybe you should give up your soul, you'd pay anything to have it removed. You'd like to live your life as a cold and empty shell, but then you remember that there's a boy that needs you sometimes, and you can't afford to make him suffer for your own selfish needs.

Maybe you could just tear it out yourself, and wrap it up nice and kindly with a pretty red bow. You'd write all your affections, everything you've wanted to say but couldn't in your stationary handwriting, folded up so sweetly perfectionists would weep.

Then you'd burn it. Scrape up the ashes and throw it at his face or something, 'cause there's no way in hell would you give it to him in it's raw form. 

What were you talking about? Oh right, red.

Redredredredredredredredredredredredred. Reddddd. Reeeeeedddddd. 

Red sheets, you mean. You'd never do something so brash, he might notice and worry about it. But you would. If you could.

 _I'd be better off dead anyway_ , you think glumly to yourself. Really though, you would. Who needs another Strider in this world? Certainly not John. Definitely not John. John. John John John John Johnjohnjohnjohnjohn John. 

_Never was a word more deadly than John._

But the worst part is that there's always that tiny glimmer of hope. That small, small, small, almost nonexistent maybe that maybe he loves you the same. Perhaps he's thinking right now, wondering how you'd feel between his lanky limbs. Perhaps he too is dreaming about your eyes, dreaming about your face, dreaming about how perfectly you'd fit into his arms, dreaming about you. 

You, but not quite. Female, perhaps. 

You need to find out.

Red sheets are thrown to the ground from your dramatic flip out of bed, but that was a dumb idea, wasn't it? Now he'll hear you, you IDIOT WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING.

_shut the fuck up ok_

You remain silent throughout the trek across the hallway in mind and voice.

Be strong, brave Strider.

(get it because brave dave yeah ill shut up now)

It's his door. Do you dare to go in?

.....Of course you do. This isn't some shitty adventure driven on by prompts and commands, Jesus fucking Christ. 

It's pale beige, _just like mine_ you think, and there's something else you two have in common that you can add to your mental list. It's grown quite long over the years, not that it means anything. He's still straight, and you're still stupid.

Where were we? Oh, that's right. Invading the private slumber of your housemate and ridiculous crush. 

You push forward, and it creaks just a tiny tiny bit. He does not stir, so you take the courage and open it just enough for you to slide through. 

He's asleep.

He's asleep and _oh my GOD_ he's beautiful. 

You must've done something abnormally great and wonderful in the past lifetimes, but certainly not this one, you've wasted it on him. It must've been something world changing, because there's no way he's just coincidentally facing the door with his covers strewn everywhere except on his own body just 

by

luck.

Otherwise you'd be the luckiest man on the planet, and we all know that's not true. 

You tiptoe accross, cringing everytime you hit a creak but he doesn't even seem to notice. He breathes deeply, his lips parted just a bit and all your sexual fantasies whirl around in your brain like a hurricane just giddy to destroy, and it's so hard not to just pin him down and fuck him senseless as he gasps beneath you, still sleep heavy and...

Instead you wait.

Not really, actually you just sneak. 

Perhaps if you weren't so lovestruck you'd realize how wrong this all was, how dirty and cruel you should feel for even THINKING of doing such a thing, what even is wrong with you? This is so awful, and what you're doing is awful, and what you're about to do is awful, and everything you'll ever do and everything you've ever done is awful awful awful awful awful awful awful SHUT UP. 

Yourself is an asshole, don't listen to him. 

And after what seems like years of quiet trepidation, you're beside his bed, breathing deeply but hopefully not too deep for him to hear. You hope he doesn't hear. Your lungs are on fire and your brain? Haha, what brain? It's all gone, every part of you, you're just John Egbert's creepy stalker, but even then that's okay because.

Because, well, what else could you be?

You set your knees on the ground, fingers perilously hovering over the edge of his bed. You wouldn't dare touch him, or anything belonging to him, and that's okay. This is fine too, you guess. Watching his even breaths and smelling his breath laced heavily with peppermint and tartar, and black eyelashes kiss his cheeks so sweetly, so softly as if they were made from feathers and cotton. His arms are rebelliously flung accross his chest, and his sheets are everywhere and it hurts just to look at them. You so badly want to reach out and made them alright again, and he could make yours alright too. Or you could sleep in the same bed and share corners, that could work too. 

You could kiss him easily from this distance, you realize.

That's a good idea, actually. He's asleep anyway, he'd never know. Maybe it'll be horrific and you'll never have to do it again, and you can finally get out of this John rut. 

You push yourself forward, face just centimeters apart from his. Your mind is dizzy with chemicals and just pure unadulterated _love_ for this boy, and you tilt your head a little to get the angle right and...

His eyebrows tense up and then suddenly appear two deep orbs in the shade of blue blue blue blue blue, alarming as a gunshot.

And it digs through you like a bullet shot from miles away, the friction of it all sending you backwards and you try to gain your balance as you struggle not to topple over, your hands desperately clinging to the floor and you're all but decent. You're all but decent and you need to hide, need to run away, need to get away from this place from this boy from this country from this planet from this

he saw you. And he knows.

He's awake, but he's oh so sleepy and you wonder if maybe you can get out of this, he'll think it nothing but a dream. You can run, but your legs don't work anymore and suddenly you know what it's like to be crippled because honestly you can't move a muscle. You're frozen still, mind like ice. 

And he sits there, staring straight into your soul but you doubt that he knows it, his face foggy and unfamiliar but so so unresistable. 

"Dave?" he says, and you fear that your heart may really fall out for your hand cannot hold it in it's place. 

"skjdfjksdferjihjnf" you reply wittily, what a humorous man! Perhaps he'll love you now, I mean who wouldn't? Who couldn't? Right? Right??? 

Then it clicks in him, you can practically see it. His eyes widen in realization and apparently it's as hard on him as it is on you because his whole body responds, it's a head shattering conclusion.

Your heart is breaking, you can feel it now. Fragments ripping at your blood vessels and creating a mess in your chest, how are you ever going to clean this up? 

"I can go...if you want." you cough out, except it comes out like a choke because he's choking you he's choking you and he's coming closer why is he coming closer oh god

"Dave." he repeats, and you silence. His hands find your cheeks and you can't help but to look up into those forbidden eyes, feeling so naked because wow wow wow wow WOW, you aren't wearing your shades, why aren't you wearing your shades? 

"I'm sorry." 

"Shut the fuck up."

And before you can apologize again, he kisses you, it's like electric and your heart supernovas into existence while you lean in closer, even though your head is shouting NO NO STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP because fuck it, you know? Fuck it all, fuck it all you are kissing this boy whether you like it or not. 

They don't glide at all, your lips are so dry and his are so moisturized that it actually almost hurts, but his mouth is so soft and warm and wet and you feel his tongue trying to sneak in, and you really don't know what to do. His eyes are half lidded, and you suddenly realize that yours aren't moving at all, just open wide. Gross red eyes that he can see and probably has seen already, and you shut them closed. You can feel his cheeks and they're burning hot, his fingers brushing against your ear and it sends a jolt of emotion that you don't even know how to describe.

But your eyes are closed now, and all sense returns. 

He's kissing you, but he doesnt mean it

Your hands clutch helplessly into his hair and he's so disgusted, so, so revolted and ashamed to ever have acknowledged your existence. 

He pulls you closer but only because he pities you. 

You can feel his heart hammering in his chest while it presses snugly against yours but he doesn't love you. 

Six words pound heavy in your head and it's killing you.

make it

 

stop

 

 

.


End file.
